Number 12
by LuxaLucifer
Summary: "So this is where it all happened." Harry nodded to Teddy, who glanced back at him nervously before pushing the door further open. When the house had popped out of the adjoining apartments, he'd been a bit unnerved, sure, but that didn't compare to the inside of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.


Written for the QLFC. It had to have Molly cooking, preferably in an Order setting. Sort of went with that? It's hard to explain. I hope you like it! :)

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"So this is where it all happened."

Harry nodded to Teddy, who glanced back at him nervously before pushing the door further open. When the house had popped out of the adjoining apartments, he'd been a bit unnerved, sure, but that didn't compare to the inside of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Creepy. Dusty. Filled with other people's memories. That's what came to Teddy's mind as he peered in. And yet...this is where it all happened. A war had been won here.

"Are we the only ones in here?" he said, voice far lower than he intended as he rubbed his arms unconsciously.

"No," replied Harry, patting him on the back comfortingly. "Molly's here, and so's George. Ginny said she might stop by."

"Just to look at an old house?"

Harry's breath caught in his throat. "Yeah. It has a lot of...yeah."

Teddy clapped his godfather comfortingly on the shoulder before moving past him, going off to explore.

The house was as big as it was creepy. Harry and the others had obviously done a lot to make it nice, but there were still vestiges of its sinister past in dark corners and unwatched shadows. Teddy felt the hair on the back of his neck raise...or at least he thought he did. When you were scared you imagined all kinds of things.

That's what he told himself when he saw a chest of drawers shake as he approached. Just his fears. Also maybe magic. But mostly his fears.

He ran his fingers through his hair the way Harry always told him reminded him of his father and took a seat in a big dusty old room with a tapestry in it. Of course, he checked the seat first; he had no idea what creatures could still be lurking here.

He stared at the faded tapestry, a strange tight feeling in his chest. He knew what it was. Harry had mentioned off-handed before when talking about Grimmauld Place. His grandmum had mentioned being blasted off it, as had Sirius Black, the man who made his godfather sad to talk about. Then again, that description applied to a lot of people.

He read the names, finding with amazement that he knew many of them. Friends and family were descended from these people...it stopped the bleak tapestry from being a relic of the past and made it matter, made it real.

He wandered back downstairs into the kitchen, where Molly was cooking, Lily tugging on her skirt for attention with a thumb on her mouth. Albus and James were playing a game with George at the big old wooden table, dust specks flying in the air around them, a mundane sort of magic.

He waved to them all before heading back upstairs, to the room he'd been avoiding, the room he'd been drawn to this entire time. His father had lived, for a short time, at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He'd had a room there. He'd helped clean the nasty place up, he'd been screamed at by the old portrait Teddy had been told to avoid on his way in, he's eaten dinner at the dusty old table. He'd gotten his hands dirty and been told bad news there and had engaged in super secret meetings that helped shape the future and maybe, maybe he fell in love with his mother there.

And now, his feet guiding him even when his mind was hesitant, he was at the door where his father had lived.

He'd never been to a home of his dad's before. His mother had lived with his grandmum most of her life, and he knew every inch of that space, had thought extensively about what went where. He could trace the outline of her furniture from pictures. Nymphadora Tonks had a past.

But for Remus Lupin there was almost nothing. He'd dropped off the map for thirteen years, and before that, almost everyone who'd known him was dead. He'd moved around a lot, apparently, unable to keep his housing stable. The apartment where the married couple had lived had been demolished after the war.

And this was a place he'd lived. Teddy squashed the nervousness in his stomach, turned his hair to his favorite shade of pink, and pushed his way into the room.

Dust. Rather a lot of it. That was saying something, considering the rest of the house. Teddy covered his mouth with his hand and stood in the center of the room. According to his godfather the rooms had been searched by someone (Harry's mouth had tightened into what Teddy called his 'war face', so he hadn't asked) but that Harry and Hermione had gone back to clean it up a few years ago. Hermione, apparently, had been the only one to see inside Remus's room while he lived there.

It was...boring. There was practically nothing of interest in there. The walls were almost bare except for a large, ugly Black family crest and a few bookshelves. Apparently Teddy's father had lived out of a few boxes and bags, and had taken everything with him. Teddy didn't know what he had expected.

He plopped down on the bed, ignoring the dust this time. It was comfortable enough, he supposed. His father had slept on it, years ago. That was something.

Teddy sighed. If he was honest...he wanted to feel more. It just wasn't...meaningful. It was an old room that some old guy who'd happened to become his father had lived in at one point. Groaning in annoyance at his own lack of emotion, he rolled over on the bed and fell straight off it.

Rubbing his nose, he picked himself off the floor, his fingers snagging on something. A piece of parchment. It was probably something from a book but he read it anyway.

In neat, small handwriting, it read, in these exact words, "Tonks wants a book? Didn't think she read." Then, scribbled in the corner, "Sirius has been eating kibble again."

He knew that handwriting. He'd seen it in letters, in cramped margins on favorite books, once on an old briefcase. It was his father's.

Filled with an emotion he couldn't quite identify, he pocketed the scrap of paper and, grinning, rejoined Harry and the others. Molly had made quite the excellent soup, and he enjoyed it thoroughly.


End file.
